


tit for tat

by gdgdbaby



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: Friends With Benefits, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-20 19:47:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14268267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gdgdbaby/pseuds/gdgdbaby
Summary: Tommy Vietor@TVietor08 ·Feb 21Great episode today. Frederick Douglass is surprisingly funny.Louis Virtel@louisvirtel ·Feb 21And has kind of a trashy Joliet, IL accent?Tommy Vietor@TVietor08 ·Feb 21Hey girl





	tit for tat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [insunshine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/insunshine/gifts).



> some gratuitous banging for insunshine, on the occasion of her birthday. ♥ hope you enjoy this, boo!
> 
> thanks to winterfold for the speedy beta-read.

As a rule, Louis tries to avoid going to straight bars.

It's a personal commitment that has served him well over the years. Gay establishments tend to blast much better music, for one, and no one's going to give him shit for ordering a fancy pink cocktail just because _they_ feel insecure about their masculinity. Plus—and this one's the kicker—the statistical likelihood of going home with someone rises exponentially in one setting and falls dramatically in the other. No prizes for guessing which.

Joining Crooked Media means a whole new component has been added to Louis's social life, though, for better or for worse. The sudden expansion of his circle of friends and colleagues to include a bunch of well-meaning straights was not something Louis could've foreseen himself being happy about before the past shitstorm of a year, but then again, a lot of stuff that happened in 2017 was deeply fucked up. In the grand scheme of things, this is nothing.

All this to say—of course he's in a straight bar for happy hour on a Thursday night at the end of March, and of course the DJ is playing something by Nickelback. Real life is messy and complicated, but it still has some semblance of structure, and Louis has learned to categorize the hours between 4PM and 7PM on this particular strip of West Hollywood as a time for overpriced small plates and mediocre margaritas. He hasn't been proven wrong yet.

Ira had said something about _making nice with the bosses_ when he sent over the time and address earlier today, along with an apology that he had to bail because of some screening he was attending, but Louis is pretty sure Lovett isn't even here. Perhaps he's running fashionably late, as always. In the meantime, Louis is halfway through his latest frozen marg and listening to pleasant bickering on his left, at one of the tables the Crooked staff had commandeered—Travis is offended, apparently, that Elijah hasn't followed him back on social media.

A minute later, someone sets a plate of sizzling wings down in front of them, and it smells pretty good, actually. If this is all going on the company tab anyway, maybe it's not a total wash.

"Hey, scoot over," comes the voice that belongs to the someone, from above, and when Louis squints up it's—Tommy, smiling, eyes crinkled. He should've known.

Tommy hasn't been particularly subtle these past few months, is the thing. Louis has been flirted with by enough questioning men in his lifetime to recognize it when he sees it; they've just never also been a nominal boss of his. That's dangerous territory by any standard.

It's probably bad that Louis lives for a little danger; he's two and a half drinks deep, nary another gay man in sight, and he feels like entertaining the gleam in Tommy's eye, even if it doesn't end up going anywhere. Louis edges over to make room automatically, and Tommy slides a chair in between him and Kara, who grins and clinks drinks with Tommy before lapsing back into her conversation with Tanya. "Hey," Tommy says again, glancing sideways at Louis.

"Hay is for horses, Thomas," Louis says, stern, but obligingly clinks his glass with proffered one as Tommy throws his head back and laughs.

When they first met, Louis thought the flirting was just something Tommy did to make people understand that he was totally down with the gays, the same way some white people changed their entire verbal strategy when they were around black people. In the weeks after they started recording the show regularly, though, Louis noted how Tommy interacted with Lovett and Ira and had to reassess. Tommy laughed like an idiot at all the jokes they made, to be sure, and live-tweeted all of them reactions to the podcast, but he also brushed his hand across the small of Louis's back when moving past him in the office kitchen to grab something from the top shelf, and had a curious way of looking at Louis through his eyelashes when no one else seemed to be paying attention. The sample size was small, but Louis had had to come to conclusion that maybe Tommy was, in fact, interested in fooling around.

Beneath the table, Louis feels something nudge against his calf before drifting down toward his ankle. Tommy's chatting with Travis, now; the conversation's moved toward March Madness and Sister Jean. He's avoiding the meat on the platter he'd brought over, crunching on the celery and carrot sticks that came with the chicken wings. Louis delicately grabs a piece of celery for himself, ignores the look Tommy sends him when he sucks a finger into his mouth to lick the ranch that drips onto his skin, and goes to town.

 

 

He stays longer than he means to. It's not just because Tommy's apparently decided that tonight would be a great opportunity to play footsie with him, like they're high schoolers at the local diner in Small Town, USA, but that certainly is part of the appeal. It's almost eight by the time they finally close the tab, and when they step out to the curb, the final strains of sunlight are bleeding out of the sky.

Louis Lyfted to the bar, earlier, and he's toggling through his apps to find it again when he feels someone step up behind his shoulder. "Nightcap?" Tommy says as Louis turns to look at him, and then seems to realize how 1930s that sounds. Two spots of pink appear on his face, but he pushes through. "I live right down the street. We wouldn't even have to call a ride."

Louis glances around at the cars speeding by and the neon lights of the storefronts, at Kara climbing into a silver Hyundai Sonata at the corner. "Just us?" he says, sliding close enough to play with the string of Tommy's soft hoodie. He grins when Tommy makes a squeaky noise. "If I were a betting man, I'd think you were trying to take me home and fuck me."

"No," Tommy says, flushing all the way up to the tips of his ears. Louis knows the feeling; being melanin-challenged ain't easy.

Louis raises his eyebrows. "No?"

"No, I meant—" Tommy says, trying again. "That's not what I want. I don't want to fuck you."

"Easy, tiger," Louis says, light, and takes a half-step away. Sometimes this happened, too; mostly straight guys got cold feet when directly confronted. It didn't have to be a big deal. "I get the picture."

Tommy makes a frustrated noise and curls a big hand around Louis's wrist before he can get too far. "I want you to fuck me," he blurts out, the words running into each other in their haste to get out of his mouth. "That's what I want."

"Oh," Louis says, and blinks, turning this new information over in his head. "Wow."

It seems Tommy has hitherto unseen depths, no pun intended. He looks up again, gives Tommy a critical onceover, watches him flush an even darker red. Tommy really does have an incredibly well-kept body. If Louis has to be anyone's gay experiment…

"Well, honey," he says, relishing the way Tommy rocks forward on the balls of his feet. "I don't usually do that, but I can make an exception."

Tommy arches an eyebrow. "Don't usually what? Fuck your boss?"

"That too," Louis says, waving his free hand, and Tommy laughs. He's still pink, but he seems more comfortable now that the thing he'd been sitting on is out in the open, which is good. "I don't usually do the fucking, period. It's not my preference." Louis leans over to pinch the swell of Tommy's ass through his khakis and smirks when Tommy shivers. "Rules are made to be broken, though, don't you think?"

 

 

Louis is fairly certain this isn't what Ira had in mind when he said to make nice with the bosses. That's the first thing he thinks when they make it up to Tommy's third-floor walkup; the second is that it makes sense that Tommy seems to have an almost military devotion to keeping things tidy, if the living room and shoe rack are anything to go by—and then Tommy pushes Louis against the closed door and slides their mouths together, and that's all Louis can think about for a while.

Despite the stuttering start on the street outside the bar, Tommy isn't shy about kissing at all. His tongue brushes against the seam of Louis's lips and strokes along the roof of Louis's mouth when granted entry; he still tastes like tequila and lime and salt, sharp and warm. Part of it is probably the pleasant buzz of alcohol, but it's easy to sink into this, easy to let Tommy's weight press him into the solid wood behind him, easy to slide a leg in between Tommy's and feel how hard he is against the edge of Louis's hip.

He could stay here for hours, until his mouth feels like a tender bruise and he doesn't have any breath left in his body, but in the end, that isn't what he's here for; heavy makeouts are just an appetizer to the main course. He leans back, smiling a little when Tommy tries to chase his mouth, and loops his arms around Tommy's broad shoulders.

"Bedroom?" Louis prompts, cajoling.

"Right," Tommy says, and ducks to kiss Louis one more time, like he can't help it, before spinning off toward the hallway leading from the living room.

The bedroom is as neatly organized as the rest of the house. Louis wants to mess the bed up; he wants to mess _Tommy_ up. From the way Tommy's panting already, it shouldn't take much. Louis is going to have to take his time if he doesn't want everything to end too quickly.

Louis slides his shirt off, drops it on the floor. Tommy's gaze drags across his collarbone and then down his chest as Louis works his belt loose. "Have you done this before?" Louis asks, conversational.

Tommy's eyes snap up again. He discards his shirt, too—freckly, Louis thinks, mouth watering a little—and wiggles out of his khakis. "Not in a while, but I have stuff," he says, scratching the back of his neck. He gestures with his other hand at the bedside table, and Louis slides the top drawer open to see half a bottle of lube, a box of condoms, a plastic dildo. "I, uh, tried doing it myself, but it wasn't—you know."

"Wasn't as good," Louis finishes, lifting the lube and a condom packet out of the drawer, and quirks his mouth into a smile when he looks at Tommy again. "I get it, babe."

Tommy strips out of his underwear, erection popping up to slap against his stomach for a moment, and Louis can't help the way his eyes go wide.

"Okay," he says, shaking his head, and doesn't even care if this was supposed to be a one-off thing, if Tommy had just wanted to hit it and quit it. Louis has to say it anyway. "You're going to have to fuck me with that at some point. I'm just saying it now. I demand it, as the proper recompense."

Tommy chuckles, dropping his boxer-briefs on top of his pile of clothing on the floor. The pink flush from his neck spreads lower, across his frankly unfair pecs and down toward his abdomen. "Okay," he says, too earnest to be anything but genuine, "that's more than okay," and hauls Louis in to kiss him again.

Louis allows it for another long moment before biting down gently against Tommy's lower lip. Tommy gasps, and Louis nudges at his waist, cuts his eyes sharply toward the bed. "Hands and knees will probably be easiest."

Tommy exhales, short and determined, and arranges himself on the mattress, knees sinking into the sheets. The long line of his back rises and falls. He shudders when he feels Louis shift onto the bed behind him.

"Just relax," Louis murmurs, dropping the lube and the condom next to him, and settles a hand across the small of Tommy's back, fingers rubbing in smooth circles. He hadn't thought about it until now, hadn't considered the logistics beforehand, but presented with the lovely slope of Tommy's bare ass, there's really only one way forward.

Tommy tenses up and makes a choked noise when Louis grips his hips and licks a quick stripe across his hole. "What are you—"

"Never been eaten out before?" Louis says, holding Tommy steady. "It feels good. I promise."

Louis licks a broader stripe the second time, goes slower, and Tommy's head drops into his arms. He relaxes in increments, like a flower slowly blooming; by the time Louis eases his tongue pasts Tommy's rim, he's rocking back into it, breath wheezing out of him.

Tongue-fucking always requires more finesse than Louis remembers, but he thinks he does okay, if the soft noises falling out of Tommy's mouth are anything to go by. Louis drops a hand down to squeeze himself; he's hard enough that he feels light-headed with it, but he manage to keep up a good rhythm, until Tommy's hole is wet with spit and he's squirming back against Louis's face.

"Please," Tommy says, "Louis, you have to—"

"Alright, alright," Louis says, and runs a hand down Tommy's spine. He rips the condom packet open, watches Tommy jolt at the crinkling sound, and hisses as he squeezes a generous amount of lube onto his hand and jacks himself a couple of times. 

One finger sinks inside Tommy easier than it would've ten minutes ago, and Tommy presses his face against the pillow in front of him, shoulders shaking, a little, muffled _ah_ of pleasure released into the scratchy fabric.

"That's it, honey," Louis says, twisting it deeper, once, twice, three times, before adding a second. Tommy stretches beautifully around him, clenches tight around two fingers, and Louis digs his other hand into the meat of one round cheek, pulls it aside so he can reach further.

Tommy groans when Louis slides three fingers inside him, hips bucking. "You can," he gasps. "You can put it in me, now. I'm ready."

"So polite," Louis says, endeared despite himself, and pulls his hand away, lines himself up. Tommy tenses up again, just for a moment, but even as Louis starts pushing in—there's a moment when it clicks, when all the stiffness in Tommy's body drains away, leaves the boneless, sweaty, panting mass of him a puddle of desire against the bed. Louis wasn't lying when he said he didn't do this often, but sometimes, in moments like this, he reconsiders that stance, thinks that maybe he should. Tommy, opening up for him, the gorgeous clench of his body around Louis—he'd still rather be fucked, but this is something else.

"How do you feel?" Louis asks when he's fully sheathed, hands gripping Tommy's hips.

Tommy turns his face to the side, half-looks over his own shoulder. "Very, very full," he says, the barest hints of strain in his voice, and Louis lets out a breathless laugh, leans in to kiss the back of Tommy's neck.

"You look good, Tommy," he says, because it's the truth. "I'm gonna move, okay?"

"Okay," Tommy says, and lets out a loud cry when Louis pulls out and slams back in. His hands twist in the sheets beneath him. "Oh, shit, please—do that again—"

Louis does, settling into a rhythm that just flirts with the edge of too fast. It doesn't allow Tommy much time to recover, but he doesn't seem to want to, keeps pushing back to meet Louis's forward thrusts, squeezing around Louis like he can keep Louis deep inside him if he just tries hard enough.

Tommy reaches beneath himself blindly, and Louis knocks his hand away so he can do it, wrap his fingers around Tommy's cock and jack him off in time with the roll of his hips. "Louis, Jesus," Tommy says, voice punched out, and it's going to be impossible to think about anything else except this every time Tommy says his name in the foreseeable future.

Like so many parts of this night, it's a surprise when Louis comes, his hips stuttering. He squeezes a little too hard around the shaft of Tommy's dick, and Tommy hisses and comes too, jizz dribbling over Louis's knuckles and dripping onto the bed, his long limbs twitching.

Louis stays inside Tommy for as long as he can handle before it starts to hurt, and then slides out slowly. Tommy trembles as he flops over on his side, gingerly props himself up on an elbow. He looks up at Louis, sweaty and tired and smiling. "Stay the night?" he says, and Louis definitely shouldn't, but Tommy's already pulling the top sheet off the bed and dropping it over the edge, already tugging on Louis's wrists until they're both horizontal.

 _Fuck it_ , Louis thinks. He's already here. What's another bad decision?

 

 

Louis wakes up to the feeling of something nuzzling his ear, and thinks, for a split second, that maybe the neighbor's cat got in through the bathroom window again, before he remembers where he is and what he was doing last night. The headache that's settled like a hammer between Louis's ears isn't great, but Tommy's arm is warm and heavy around his middle, weighing him down into the mattress, and that's definitely the insistent line of Tommy's erection nestled against Louis's ass. Well, then.

Tommy seems to realize he's woken up, because the nuzzling intensifies, teeth worrying at the soft skin behind Louis's ear. Tommy's hand drifts lower to palm Louis's dick, easy and sure. Louis reconsiders his _mostly straight_ evaluation of Tommy Vietor and slides him under _possibly bisexual???_ instead. Who knew? Maybe Ira—almost definitely Lovett. Louis probably should've asked.

"Should I repay you now for services rendered?" he hears Tommy say in his ear, voice raspy from sleep and arousal.

"Mm," Louis says, stretching out languidly before pushing his ass back against Tommy's cock. He smiles when Tommy groans. "I think it'll take more than one round, honey, but it's a start."


End file.
